


an old soul's song

by didsomebodysay



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Los Angeles, M/M, Multi, different character friendships, superhero au, you'll see everyone at some point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:31:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/didsomebodysay/pseuds/didsomebodysay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a heap of broken images.</p>
<p>It was as if the sun had risen in the middle of the night and flames shot out around a wave of golden hair. “Are you a God?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Enjolras?”</p>
<p>And then - nothing.</p>
<p>superhero au!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a heap of broken images.

It was as if the sun had risen in the middle of the night and flames shot out around a wave of golden hair. “Are you a God?” he asked.

“Enjolras?”

And then - nothing.

 

 

***  

 

When Grantaire woke up he heard voices.

“You know what we have to do. We can’t take any chances.”

“Isn’t it our job to protect the innocent?”

He tried opening his eyes but a harsh light stopped him. He’s lying on a bed, not on some park bench, he realized, but he’s uncomfortable. His head hurts.

“I’m sorry, Combeferre. There’s nothing else we can do without seriously jeopardizing our organization. We have to think of the others.”

Combeferre tried to fight the way his insides squirmed with anxiety. “We know him,” he murmured in barely above a whisper. “Does he..?”

The silence stretched on and Grantaire felt a hand on his wrist. And then, “No.”

Grantaire was terrified.

Suddenly there was a different a voice directly beside him. “Your threat is awake.”

Valjean and Combeferre both startled at the sound of Joly’s voice as if they forgot he was there. Valjean stammered, “Oh—yes, well, how is he?”

“I’m right here,” Grantaire croaked. He attempted to sit up in bed but Combeferre rushed to his side, “You need rest.”

“No major head injuries, thankfully. You bruised that shoulder quite a bit from the fall,” Joly noted as he scribbled something on a clipboard. “You’ll need to rest and stay hydrated,” He nodded again, this time toward the IV Grantaire hadn’t realized was hooked up to his arm. “You’re alcohol level was pretty high when they found you.” 

All at once he’d flooded with images of stumbling in the park, seeing a golden god, falling—

Grantaire flushed dark from embarrassment. “This isn’t even a real hospital. You guys can’t keep me here. God only know what you’re giving to me. Are you even a real doctor?”

Joly looked sheepish. "Well I'm a med student right now so that's close enough."

“We can’t let you leave just yet,” Valjean told him. Combeferre cleared his throat. “It’s a complicated situation,” was his apology. “So, uh, what do you remember?”

 

*** 

 

Courfeyrac had already changed and in the kitchen when Enjolras came out of the call room, while he was still wearing their uniform – nondescript black pants, a long black shirt underneath a black hoodie. His red eye mask and black gloves are tucked into one of their many pants pockets.

“I sent a message and told everyone to stay clear for a while,” he said instead of ‘hello’.

“Why?” Courfeyrac didn’t look up as he bandaged his hands. “It’s not like Grantaire doesn’t know who we are. He remembered your name after all.”

Worry nagged at him and tugged deep in his stomach almost like when he’s about to get a vision only this time, there was nothing. “What happened to you out there, Courf?” he asked; he couldn't mask his concern, so he didn't.

Sighing, he finished the wrap on one of his hands and wriggled his fingers. “I told you I don’t know. I felt stuck. I can’t explain it. But look, I’m fine now.” He snapped the fingers on his unwrapped hand as if to prove a point; a small flame burst forth and flickered for a few seconds before disappearing.

They were going after a purse-snatcher. Not a big deal by anyone standard’s at this point. Except he pulled a gun and Courfeyrac panicked because his flames wouldn’t work. There was a scuffle. Enjolras’s mask came undone. The man got away and ran into Grantaire in the process, knocking him down. Everything happened so quickly, there was nothing he could have done--

“It’s not your fault. These things happen,” He helped Courfeyrac finished tying the bandage. When Courfeyrac smiled back at him, the knot of worry in his belly loosened.

But a chirp interrupted the moment. Courfeyrac carefully reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. At the same time Enjolras’s own phone chimed with an incoming text.

“Shit.”

 

***

 

The scene inside the infirmary was, for lack of a better word, terrifying.

Grantaire was in the middle of shouting, “You can’t keep me here against my will!” when they walked in.

“You’re lucky they didn’t leave you out on the street,” Valjean snapped.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear your conversation earlier,” Grantaire growled.

Valjean sputtered. His flush betrayed him.

“Stop!” Enjolras interjected. Combeferre didn't miss the way Grantaire visibly relaxed.

“All this arguing is going to get us nowhere. We’re obviously in a difficult position here, but Grantaire, we only want what is in your best interests.”

From outside the room came a bang of a door slamming shut.

They could hear Cosette calling for Valjean.

“I told them not to come,” Enjolras groaned. Valjean beat him to the door and headed down the hallway toward the main part of headquarters where he was greeted by Cosette and Bahorel stilled dressed in their pajamas and grinning like fools.

“What happened?” Cosette asked eagerly. Bahorel couldn’t hide his grin, “Are we keeping him?”

Valjean tried to block Cosette from going down the hall as he said, “I thought Enjolras told you to stay away.”

She side-stepped around him, light as a feather, hovering a few inches above the ground. “Oh, Papa. It’s not as if Grantaire is a stranger. Even I’ve met him before.”

“You don’t know if he’s working for someone—“

Bahorel laughed so loudly that Cosette stumbled back on the ground. “He’s harmless,” he explained with a shrug.

“We don’t know that—“

 _"Papa,”_ Cosette and Courfeyrac admonished at the same time. He had left the infirmary and joined their little group just moments ago. _  
_

“We’re so fucked,” Courfeyrac sighed dramatically and ignored the look Valjean gave him. “Joly refuses to let Grantaire leave until Musichetta gets here with pain medication. He feels personally responsible for his well-being or something, and I think Combeferre wants to adopt him. Grantaire’s about ready to knock everyone out in that room with his IV. Enjolras is trying to talk to him.”

 

***

 

Feeling cosiderably safer with Valjean out of the room, Grantaire sat up in bed drinking orange juice with a straw while Joly looked on approvingly.

“I want to preface this by saying that we’re not going to keep you here against your will. You can leave whenever you want. No one is going to stop you,” Enjolras said from his spot at the foot of Grantaire's bed.

"Is there someone we should call? Do you need a ride somewhere?" Combeferre asked. Grantaire shook his head. 

Enjolras and Combeferre shared a quick look. Then Enjolras swooped back in, "I don’t know what you know about our group, Grantaire, but our only objective is to protect the innocent. We work to bring justice in instances where the police may not be very helpful. I remember you from our college group, you know. You only came to a few meetings, always sat in the back, but you also always had something to say. I think, if you chose to stay, you could be a valuable resource to us.”

He laughed and set his orange juice on the bedside table. “Valuable?’ You clearly don’t remember me that well.”

Combeferre sighed. “You should still rest up here a little bit. Besides, I think there’s a house full of people who would like to see you again. Please stay?”

"It's supposed to rain tonight," Enjolras added. Joly nodded.

Grantaire balled part of the blanket into his fist and said nothing.

When Enjolras and Combeferre realized they couldn’t do anything to convince Grantaire otherwise, they left him alone to get his rest after telling him he was free to leave. Their entire brood had arrived by then and den was filled with excited chatter as Courfeyrac and Feuilly worked on breakfast.

The more time passed, the more restless Grantaire became. If Joly noticed him glancing at the door every couple of seconds, he said and did nothing, just went about his way around the infirmary or checking his phone for a text from Musichetta.

“Is there a bathroom here?” Grantaire suddenly asked.

Joly looked up from his phone and nodded. “Yes, right this way!” he said and gingerly helped Grantaire out of bed. “You’ll have to navigate with the IV, I’m afraid,” although Joly sounded anything but afraid.

The bathroom was on the other side of the room. It was medium sized with an adjacent bathtub.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Joly said and Grantaire closed the door behind him.

Finally alone, Grantaire let out a long sigh of relief. There was a decent sized window above the toilet, he noticed. He peeked outside and was relieved to find he was on the first floor of wherever he was. The idea sprang back and forth in his head as he chewed a hangnail. He couldn’t stay here, he couldn’t see anyone. Enjolras was wrong – he couldn’t be valuable or helpful. It had to be done.

Grantaire quickly yanked the IV from his arm and let out a silent cry of pain. Blood started pooling to the surface immediately. He danced around the bathroom searching the medicine cabinet for gauze and medical tape, _“Shit, shit shit.”_ Finding some he hurriedly and sloppily wrapped and taped his arm. He climbed on top of the toilet, secured the window open, and maneuvered his body through it, but not without getting his jean pocket caught on the latch twice before freeing himself.

He landed in some bushes with a grunt. Looking around, Grantaire had no idea where he was. Somewhere in the hills. The house behind him looked beyond average with blue paint and brown shutters on the windows, but it seemed to glow in the light of the rising sun.

“This is it?” Grantaire laughed in disbelief. “Well shit.” He had no time to dwell on the guilt simmering in his stomach, or the way his wound throbbed with the absence of adequate care. He had to get out of here as quickly as possible.

 

*** 

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Valjean all but bellowed.

Joly was wringing his hands while Combeferre paced back and forth. “I let him go the bathroom and he climbed out of the window! How was I supposed to know he would run after we told him he could leave? Christ, he just _tore_ _out_ the IV…” _  
_

Enjolras sat by the window, peering out into the side yard. “He knows where we operate now,” he said as casual as noting the weather. “But I don’t think it’s as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

Combeferre stopped pacing. “Do you see something?”

He closed his eyes and tried to even his breathing. When a vision comes to him, it feels as natural as remembering a dream. Actively trying to see into the future is something of a trick, but he’s been working on it under Valjean’s guidance. It doesn’t always work, and in the past it would leave him with a headache for days, but it was something he knew he had to work on if he wanted to be useful to their cause. Concentrating on Grantaire, Enjolras waited for that familiar buzz to come to him and then flared the feeling and—

“Nothing.”

Valjean sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “We’ll just have to be more careful this time. We’re still trying to do damage control on that video someone got of Cosette and Bahorel last month. That police officer gave Cosette a weird look when we ran into him at the bank the other day.”

Cosette rolled her eyes from the couch. She’s shuffling cards while Bahorel flips through a magazine beside her. “Pretty sure he wasn’t looking at _me_ that way,” she muttered under her breath, then as an afterthought, shuddred, “I hope not, anyway.” _  
_

From the kitchen Courfeyrac’s voice rang out, “BREAKFAST IS READY.”

Suddenly feeling more energetic with the promise of food, the group headed out to the kitchen where Feuilly was setting the table.

Enjolras and Combeferre were the last to leave. He placed a reassuring hand on Enjolras’s shoulder. “It'll be alright.”

Enjolras wished he could believe him.

 

***

“Christ! Thank God I found you,” Grantaire panted for breath after he came skidding to a halt. Eponine looked up at him as she pulled her curls back into a high ponytail.

“I thought you didn’t believe in God,” she drawled. Her posture was languid, her voice almost bored, but her hands flittered with a frantic energy about her as she reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lighter.

Grantaire frowned. “I thought you were quitting.” But he asked for one, anyway.

After lighting up they loitered on the street corner in silence. Grantaire needed to get his thoughts straight. Eponine would never believe him—not that he would tell her, oh no. If there was one thing he would do right it would be to keep their location in the hills of Sunland a secret.

Eponine looked up at him curiously but Grantaire didn’t say anything. She takes one last drag of her cigarette before flicking it onto the sidewalk and putting it out with the toe of her boot. “You wanna get breakfast or something?” she asked. Grantaire put on hand in his pocket and thumbed the lone quarter in there. Eponine rolled her eyes, “Don’t be stupid. Montparnasse is paying.”

 

***

After breakfast Courfeyrac decided a nap was in order. Instead of going back to their respective homes, they all decided to sleep at headquarters. Joly left, however, because he promised Musichetta to meet her after she finished her shift at the hospital since she was no longer required to stop by.

Even Enjolras was coaxed into taking a break. He’s usually still wired after a night out – coffee, adrenaline, that electric buzz from controlling his flashes – but his shoulders slumped from caffeine withdrawal and his eyes are heavy with the events of the previous night. Combeferre lead him to his bunk and waited until he could hear Enjolras’s breathing even out before closing his eyes.

In his office Valjean couldn’t stop pacing. Something was wrong. Even if Grantaire wasn’t working against them, Valjean could sense something. The energy at headquarters was difficult to sift through. Everyone was exhausted with worry, but the _feel_ of the house was light as if freed from an oppressive force. He sat at his desk and stared at his phone, a deep line creasing his forehead while his thoughts formulated. Finally, he reached for his cell phone and searches for a contact.

The line rang a few times until—

“Yes, Prouvaire? Valjean. You’re back in Los Angeles, correct? Are you free to meet me this afternoon?”

 

***

Valjean took the opportunity to leave while everyone was still asleep. He dressed casually in what Courfeyrac and Cosette annoyingly (/affectionately) liked to call “Grandpa Chic”, wrote note for Cosette to stay at headquarters until he returned, which he knew would be a meaningless request but did it anyway, and left.

Prouvaire greeted him outside of a Starbucks in Hollywood with two drinks in his hands. “For you,” he offered him a pumpkin spice latte. The other cup is an Earl Grey.

They argued amiably over their collected coffee tabs over the years on their walk to the nearby park. Their conversation is best suited with the sound of shrilling children and barking dogs buzzing around them.

Prouvaire picked a bench and set his bag down on the floor. He looks exactly the same when Valjean last saw him months ago: still youthful despite the twinkling of experience behind his eyes. His dark hair is longer, though, and pulled into a low bun at the base of his neck, and there is a scratch of scruff around his mouth.

“You’re finally growing facial hair,” Valjean teased with amusement.

Jehan laughed into his drink. “It only took a few decades.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear and got right to business. “So what is so urgent?”

It still amazed Valjean that his long time friend barely looked twenty years old, but now was not the time for musing.

“Let me begin by asking: Do you know someone named Grantaire?”

When Jehan shook his head, Valjean continued. “Well, he apparently went to school with the others, and last night, he saw Enjolras and Courfeyrac while they were out.”

Jehan nodded for him to continue.

“There was some sort of physical fight with a thief and Grantaire became involved. He was hurt, but not terribly. He passed out and the boys brought him back.”  
There was an intake of breathe beside him.

“We told him he could leave as he pleased. Enjolras even offered him a position helping Combeferre and Feuilly.” Here, Valjean dropped his voice to barely above a whisper.

“But he decided to run when we weren’t paying attention. I sensed nothing from him, but it doesn’t feel right. Why would he do that?”

The worry in Valjean’s voice was more than overly-protective paranoia that he was sometimes guilty of. Jehan set his cup down and put an arm around the back of the bench.

“Jean, you’ve been living with your Gift all your life. You know how to use it,” he reassured.

“There is something more here,” Valjean huffed, “Courfeyrac couldn’t control _his_ last night. Now that boy may be a clown but he is incredibly dedicated to training with such a volatile talent. I would trust him with my life.”

“Accidents happen.”

“I don’t think what happened to me was an accident. You said so yourself – I know how to use my Gift. I can sense these things. From him? I couldn’t properly explain it then, but I didn’t sense the absence of a power – I sensed _nothing._ You've been around this longer than I have. What do you make of that?" _  
_

Jehan gazed out toward the park and frowned in thought. That was strange. “It might be worth looking into. I can ask around to see if anyone knows about him."

 

***

The following few days made the house restless. They went out at night like routine but even Enjolras lacked his usual zeal. He hadn’t told anyone, but they knew he blamed himself for what had happened – he wasn’t being careful, his mask was poorly done, he couldn’t help Courfeyrac when he needed him, he didn’t protect Grantaire.

Since their first meeting was fruitless, that Saturday Valjean agreed to meet up with Jehan again. His new apartment was in a small complex in Hollywood. Throughout the decades that spanned their friendship Valjean tried convincing him to stay with him and Cosette, or in the past year, to stay at headquarters instead of the tiny, old apartments he rented for himself. Every time he would smile at him in a very Jean Prouvaire fashion and say, “I’ll be here for a while, but this apartment is temporary.”

Jehan was already waiting for him outside the building when Valjean arrived. He pulled into the driveway and lowered the passenger side window when Jehan approached the car.

“Good evening! Just park on the street over here – the weather is nice and there is a Zankou just down the street from me.”

They hadn’t had much time to discuss the peculiarities of their last meeting in the few days apart so Valjean was looking forward to picking Jehan’s brain over kebab sandwiches. Together they walked down the street past small apartment buildings and neat cottages toward the larger boulevard as street lights shined above them.

Down the street Eponine rolled her eyes as Montparnasse attempted yet another smoke ring. “Maybe it’s too windy,” Grantaire offered as yet another attempt failed. None of the tree branches around them quivered.

“See what I have to deal with?” Eponine snickered as Montparnasse put his cigarette out on the brick wall he leaned against.

“Whatever,” he shrugged. “Did Eponine tell you about the new car I got?” he asked Grantaire, and then pulled out his phone to show pictures. “First one off the lot. A BMW 4 class, black on black. What kind of car did you say you drive?”

“Uh, right now, the Red Line,” Grantaire said. He absently scratched the bruise where the IV had once been and ignored Montparnasse’s sneer. He was only good for drugs and free food as far as Grantaire was concerned.

“Shut up and put your phone away. Christ,” Eponine was reaching into her bag for another cigarette when two approaching figures caught her eye. _“Shit.”_

Grantaire peered around the alley. When he saw Valjean the color drained from his face. “We gotta get out of here.”

“No, lemme show this guy who’s really boss,” Montparnasse grinned and pushed up the sleeves of his jacket. “This is _our_ neighborhood. _”_

“No!” Eponine hissed, "My dad'll freak the fuck out."

Montparnasse shrugged her off. “I won’t hurt them or anything if you don’t want me to, I’ll just scare ‘em a little.” He focused on a large tree branch that loomed over the sidewalk. The branch began shaking, barely-there trembles at first and then violent bouncing in a matter of seconds by the time Valjean and Jehan approached the area, sending leaves and nuts off in every direction. Grantaire held his breath waiting for the branch to completely break off but before Valjean and Jehan could even react to get themselves away the shaking suddenly came to a halt.

“What the hell!” Montparasse yelled, which caught Valjean's attention. Eponine looked at Grantaire standing there, fists balled and a look of immense concentration on his face like she had seen when he worked on his art. He looked pale, almost hungover, and he began trembling. She had seen that look before, had sometimes felt too sick around him, and then amidst Montparnasse's fit, a realization dawned on her.

“No shit,” she whispered to herself just as Valjean called out, “Hey!”

In a moment of panic Eponine didn’t even bother making herself disappear; she grabbed Montparnasse by the collar of his jacket and took off down the alley. Their footsteps and her scolding echoed in their wake.

If Valjean needed any more proof that his suspicions about Grantaire were correct, this was it. _“You,”_ he pointed at Grantaire, “come with us right now.”

Jehan waved.

 

***

  
Grantaire didn’t lift his eyes off the table where he sat with Jehan until Valjean slid a wrapped sandwich and a coke over to him.

“I hope you like chicken.”

“Look, this is nice of you and everything, but I can’t –”

“Just eat,” Jehan said gently.

So they sat in the corner booth and ate their dinner in silence. Grantaire ate but tasted nothing. Instead he wondered how long it would take for either of them to start talking.

“Stop your shifty-eyes and calm down,” Valjean said suddenly, and when Grantaire looked at him with wide, scared eyes, he carefully wiped his hands on a napkin and said, “You know we need to talk. You don’t need to be scared.”

“Why should I trust you?”

Jehan took the two seconds of silence before Valjean replied and cut in, “We, well, there’s no poetic or polite way of bringing this about, but we believe that you have a Gift.”

Grantaire stared at them dumbly. He blinked a few times and then stammered out, “N-no, no I don’t.”

Valjean reached across the table and clapped a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. “Don’t lie to me. I can tell these things.” He felt warmth spread from his hand but it stopped quickly, too suddenly, and it took all his willpower not to yell _A-HA!_ in the middle of the restaurant. The look on his face gave it away and Grantaire knew they had figured it out.

He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “Look, I’m certain two things happened that night. The first,” he straightened up and raised one finger, “was that you were responsible, and I believe accidently, for Courfeyrac’s loss of ability. And two,” here Valjean will swear he did not pause for dramatic effect but Jehan knew otherwise and hid a smile, “the reason you approached them in the first place was because _you wanted to help._ ”

“Subconsciously, maybe,” Jehan added, "You care about them," and now his smile was blooming because Grantaire’s face was open in a way that told him that they were right about this one.

“We can help you control your Gift,” Valjean said.

“You can?” His voice cracked with unspeakable hope.

“Not only that, but I’m sure with the right training you’d be able to expand on it. It’s only a theory we've been playing with but it’s truly amazing what the human body can do. What _you_ can do with our help.”

“It must be exhausting trying to suppress it all the time,” Jehan said sympathetically. Grantaire bit his thumb nail and said nothing. They allowed him a moment to think things over. Finally he said, “Okay. Alright. But under one condition: no one else can know about my ‘Gift’. I want to be trained in secret.”

Valjean hesitated so Jehan took the responsibility of promising him they would even though he really had no authority over that. If that was what it took, so be it. The others would find out eventually; there was no way they would train Grantaire quickly enough without someone else noticing.

“Good, good. Now finish eating your sandwich unless you’d rather take it to go. You’ll be coming back with me, I’m assuming?” Valjean asked. Grantaire thought about his car and the pile of blankets shoved in the back seat, and nodded. Valjean smiled.

They finished eating and made the awkward walk back to Jehan’s apartment with only Jehan making small talk of the previous town he lived in in New Mexico.

When they reached the car Jehan hugged Valjean good bye and then turned to Grantaire with wide arms.

“Do you make a habit to help complete strangers?” Grantaire asked.

Jehan smiled at him and reached for his hand. “Strangers? Oh I feel like we’ve been waiting to meet for a long time now.”

Valjean unlocked the car. “Ready to go?” Grantaire nodded and with the click of his seatbelt, he knew there was no turning back now.

Jehan waved them off. He stood outside the apartment building until the lights of Valjean’s car blurred with the other streetlights and disappeared.  
.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this is so late and that you guys are getting halloween over a week late. :( chapter 3 will be up sooner, i promise  
> javert's introduction, mild violence, talk of death in this chapter.

At last they reached the house – or Grantaire thought so anyway since Valjean pulled the car over seemingly nowhere and put in in park.

“It’s just up the hill,” he said when he saw Grantaire’s confused face. “We have some ground rules to go over first.”

Grantaire nodded and stared up the dark hill.

Valjean let out a deep sigh. “I guess, first and foremost, welcome to the Castle.”

“Castle?”

Grantaire was waved off as if Valjean couldn’t be bothered to explain the name, but he did say, “Something I promised my daughter years ago.”

“Now, this isn’t something you can just agree to and not take seriously. I will help you improve your Gift to the best of my ability, but you must also put in the effort to _learn_. First we’ll put you on an exercise regimen for self-control which is essential to mastering your ability and preventing accidents like the one in the park. Also, no drinking. Not in the house, anyway.”

I would take care to cut back, at the very least. You should care for your body,” Valjean added, this time in a much more gentle voice, like the one he had used back at dinner.

“Also, no more fraternizing with the Thenardier girl or anyone affiliated with them.”

“Eponine’s my friend.”

“Yes, and her parents are also run one of the largest Super gangs on the West Coast. They are dangerous and if you will continue to stay here and learn, you must promise me that you will sever ties with her immediately.”

Grantaire knew best not to argue because Valjean had gone from Gentle to Don’t Fucking Argue With Me in like, two seconds. “Okay. Okay. Yeah. I’m not just saying that because I need a place to stay, either. I want to be useful.”

Valjean opened his car door. “I never said you weren’t.”

Grantaire knew he made the right decision to go with Valjean, and he knew he made the right decision in wanting his Gift to be a secret, he _knew_ this was the right thing to do, but stepping inside that house made him regret everything.

Before he could even register what was happening Bahorel had him in a tight embrace. “B-Bahorel. I can’t. Breathe,” he stuttered unheard over the other man’s voice booming “You’re back!!!”

“Jesus Christ, let him go before you Hulk out on him,” came from somewhere over Bahorel and then Grantaire was scooped up into Courfeyrac’s arms. To his left Cosette was clapping her hands and squealing.

After everyone said hello Grantaire looked up and saw Enjolras in the hallway, dressed for a night out of saving the world, the tiniest of smiles at the corner of his lip.

“Welcome back,” he said and at a loss for what to say, Grantaire nodded back like a fool, but before anything else could happen Combeferre shoo’d the Supers out the front door. Now it was just Grantaire in the house with Combeferre, Valjean, and an Asian kid named Feuilly that he didn’t remember from college.

Combeferre and Feuilly took Grantaire on the tour of the house, first showing him the dormitory style bedrooms on the second floor.

“We’ll make a space for you,” Feuilly said as they walked down the hallway. “Do you think you’ll move in here permenantly?”

“Enjolras, Feuilly, and I basically live here. Valjean and Cosette stay here often but they have another house for appearances’ sake,” said Combeferre.

“Yeah, I’ll be staying here.”

Back downstairs they entered what was set up to be a guest bedroom. Feuilly knelt near the air vent beside a small bookshelf and pushed on it. The bookshelf gave way to a secret room. “Thank God for safety rooms, right?”

Inside was a room the size of a small bedroom. Two computers sat on an L-shaped desk in the corner ended with small filing cabinets. A police tracker sat on top of a table opposite the desk with other miscellaneous things. Next to them was a rolling clothing rack with several extra uniforms hanging in a row.

“What is this, -A’s lair?” Grantaire muttered to himself but the joke fell on ignorant ears. Feuilly looked at him funny.

“This is where you’ll be helping us!” Combeferre said excitedly. “We keep track of the others via cameras and earpieces they wear. The police scanner helps us stay on top of reported crimes as they happen, but that’s also what Enjolras is for.”

“He’s our visionary,” Feuilly explained.

Grantaire nodded, taking everything in. He ran his hand down the sleeve of one of the uniforms and wondered what it would be like to wear one and maybe fight at Enjolras’s side. There didn’t seem to be much glory in stopping muggings and car theft, but he could still remember the power Enjolras moved with that night.

He turned to Combeferre and Feuilly and asked, through forced excitement at his new job prospect, “So, where am I going to sleep?”

***  

The following couple of days found Grantaire shadowing Combeferre and Feuilly around to get the hang of their system.

_“Everyone wears two cameras and we can see their live feed on these screens,” Combeferre explains. “They also wear ear pieces and microphones so we can communicate.”_

_“If there’s ever a serious emergency, we have to burn these filing cabinets and everything in Valjean’s office,” Feuilly says, “And then get the fuck out of here. We’ll go over escape routes later.”_

It left very little time for Valjean and Grantaire to work together for his training. He sent Grantaire a link to a breathing and meditation website with instructions to work on that until they had the house to themselves. For the following week Grantaire, more sober than usual, was even more aware of the potential threat he was to them at the time being. It sometimes came in random bursts of self-deprication; there were only a handful of times Grantaire was completely aware of what he was doing. So despite Bossuet and Courfeyrac’s best attempts to spend time with him, Grantaire kept himself closed off and stand-offish.

With Halloween approaching the group prepared for what they anticipated as one of the most stressful night so of the year. It would be their first Halloween together as an actual group and Enjolras was worried – more worried than usual – about the upcoming night. He hadn’t seen any visions and when he tried to peer into the future, he felt more anxious than usual, like when he was a child waking up in the middle of the night with nightmares that were actually visions of rape, murder, and destruction.

A few days after Grantaire’s arrival, everyone was at the Castle except Joly and Musichetta, but the den was so full of chatter and warmth (courtesy of Courfeyrac,) that it felt, for a moment, like they were regular 20-somethings hanging out.

“Why don’t we go to West Hollywood for Halloween?” Courfeyrac suggested.

Enjolras shook his head vehemently. “No, we agreed not to take the night off.”

“We did,” Courfeyrac agreed and got up from his chair to scoot in beside Enjolras on the couch, _“But--”_

“Here we go,” muttered Cosette.

“Do you know how many people attend the parade in West Hollywood?”

“Over 500,000 people,” Bossuet recited from his phone. Enjolras didn’t even realize he was anchoring him on the other side. Trapped.

“That _is_ a lot of people,” Combeferre said after a moment. “Everyone would have to go down there to really cover enough ground. Is it worth having everyone in one city for the night?”

“It _is_ just one night,” Courfeyrac repeated. “Seriously. Think of all those people. They’ll be drinking. They’ll be taking drugs – you know they will. The cops will so busy with crowd control and we’d be able to maneuver through the crowds easier.”

Enjolras frowned in thought but he wasn’t opposed to the idea. It made sense, actually.

“Okay. Yeah. I think it might be in the best interest to watch over the carnival.”

Courfeyrac whooped and jumped out of his seat. “Okay! Everyone plan a costume since we obviously can’t go in our uniforms. And I mean everyone – that means you guys too,” he said and looked at Feuilly, Combeferre, and Grantaire. “We’ll need all hands on deck for this one. Bossuet, tell your beau and your other beau to come dressed as well. You can come too, Papa!” he called over his shoulder.

From the kitchen Valjean didn’t bother looking up from his tablet and replied, stone-faced, “Too old.”

“I don’t think I’ve gone out with you guys since our college days, and that was just when it was still Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and I,” Combeferre smiled fondly at the memories.

The group broke up into excited chatter over Halloween costumes with Cosette whispering _“Is it alright if I invite Marius?”_ so her father wouldn’t overhear and Bahorel whining about being forced by his parents to take his foster brother out trick-or-treating and couldn’t get out of it.

Valjean joined them in the den and said, “Actually I’d like it if someone were to stay behind with me. Grantaire, would you mind?”

Before anyone could protest, Grantaire accepted. Courfeyrac was betrayed and Cosette looked surprised but that was the end of that.

Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, Valjean approached Grantaire. “We’ll only have a few hours on Halloween so I want you to really concentrate and work with me.”

“Whatever you want me to do.”

***

“What are you wearing?!” Combeferre asked, taken aback by Courfeyrac’s costume.

He tapped Combeferre on the head with his fake baton. “I’m a sexy cop, duh.”

“I thought we had to wear costumes to hide our identities,” Cosette said, but she gazed over his police cap, aviators, tight tank top, and booty shorts appreciatively. “You’ll fit right in where we’re going, though.”

“Exactly!” Courfeyrac leaned over Combeferre and high fived Cosette. “What are you supposed to be, anyway?” he asked Combeferre.

“I’m Sherlock Holmes.”

“BBC or Elementary?”

“Sir Arther Conan Doyle.”

“… Of course you are.”

Slowly everyone started coming in: Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta came next dressed as Harry, Ron, and Hermione respectively, then came Feuilly as a sexy firefighter ( _“Bro!” Courfeyrac shouted_ ) and finally Enjolras dressed in all black with an eye mask covering half his face, outlined with the orange-red hair of a lion.

They took Valjean’s Dad Van down to West Hollywood and after finding parking in a discreet enough area, they met up with Marius outside an American Apparel dressed as Mickey Mouse to complement Cosette’s Minnie. Beside him was Bahorel dressed as the Hulk covered in green body paint and wearing purple boxers. A smaller, grinning mini-Hulk was at his side.

“You brought a kid here?” Musichetta asked, eyeing the small boy, who looked about ten years old, carefully.

Bahorel shrugged. “We went trick or treating for like five minutes and he got bored. I thought this would be more fun. Everyone,” he addressed the group, “This is my foster brother. Be nice.”

“Hey,” the child said. He spoke almost like an adult, very sure of himself, confident, with a haughty gleam in his eye. “My name’s Gavroche.”

*** 

“Yoga?”

“Yoga,” Valjean confirmed. “We need to work on your breathing. Did you look at the links I sent you?”

Grantaire took a seat on the floor across from Valjean. They were in his office with all the furniture pushed aside. “Yeah. Although I’m not sure how that’s supposed to help. Breathing helps Enjolras see the future?”

“There’s a lot about what we can do that is still vastly unknown. The first reports of humans with superpowers started coming about when I was probably younger than you. It was a very scary time. No one knew what was going on or what was happening to people.”

“What about your friend?” Grantaire asked.

“Jehan is a mystery. I’m still not sure what to make of him. He’s over 200 years old, I know that much.”

 _“What?!”_ Grantaire stared at Valjean, mouth open. “You’re shitting me!”

The older man shook his head. “He’s also told me that he’s met people with powers long before the first “reported” incidents happened. Like I said, a lot is unknown.”

***

Dance music thumped, thumped, thumped, slithering around throngs of bodies walking, dancing, and posing for pictures, dressed in elaborate costumes or practically nothing at all. A string of LAPD officers were standing at the intersection of Santa Monica Boulevard and La Cienega, working crowd and traffic control.

“Happy Halloween!” a young man dressed in cat ears and black shorts exclaimed with a pinch of glitter thrown at the officers. Javert frowned.

“They’re only having fun, sir,” said an officer with close cropped red hair.

“Samson, there is nothing about this night I enjoy. Standing around and waiting for someone to overdose on drugs is not the purpose of this badge.” An officer for almost thirty years, Javert held an unwavering belief in the badge upon his chest.

“Yes, sir,” the officer called Samson nodded, but Javert was too busy glowering at a group of college-aged kids crossing the street, especially the one dressed as a cop.

“I was hoping to see you!” Courfeyrac exclaimed excitedly at Javert. “Look, we’re even wearing the same costume! Isn’t that hilarious? Selfie?” he asked and held his phone out.

“Move along, numb nuts,” Javert barked. Courfeyrac’s face fell.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Enjolras said impatiently. He met Javert’s eyes, reflecting his cold glare as they dragged Courfeyrac out of the intersection.

“Is it necessary for you to antagonize him?” Cosette asked.

Courfeyrac tucked his phone into his shorts. “He’s all talk. Secretly I think he likes when I mess with him,” he winked exaggeratedly and almost bumped into a drag queen dressed as Mother Gothel.

***  

They spent the last half hour on breathing exercises in the dark. By the end of their session he felt lighter, yes, but also ready to take a nap.

“Now,” Valjean said as he turned on the light, “let’s talk theory.” He sat back down across from Grantaire. “I like to think of these Gifts as existing on a spectrum. Courfeyrac, as you know, can not only manipulate fire, but create it from his own being. His is the most external. I, on the other hand, am purely internal. I can sense when other people have Gifts. I can create nothing. After Courfeyrac on the spectrum is someone like Bossuet, who can only manipulate plant life that is already existing. Bahorel and Cosette are in between – they produce energy that manifests in Bahorel’s super strength and Cosette’s flight. With proper training, we can push on these unique abilities. Cosette now has the ability to manipulate air and wind currents.”

You and Enjolras are similar to myself, but the energy you produce can directly affect other people. You need to focus. Now, tell me what it feels like when you’re using your Gift.”

***

Enjolras stopped mid-step, eyes wide, an electric buzz surging through his body as images flashed back and forth in his mind.

“What is it?” Combeferre asked.

Enjolras pulled himself back out of his trance, grabbed Combeferre’s arm. “We have to go back toward La Cienega. Patron-Minette is about to hold up all the bars above it.”

“Take this!” Bahorel picked Gavroche up and practically threw him to an unsuspecting Joly. “Stay with them!” Bahorel told Gavroche before turning and following the others back toward the street.

“I saw six of them. They’re all armed. Be careful, we don’t have any protective gear!” Enjolras advised. Everyone split up to move through the crowds. Cosette was ahead of them, floating a few inches off the ground and gracefully dodging groups of people who took no notice.

“We don’t have any weapons either!” Bossuet cried, nearly tripping over someone’s Superman cape. “Be careful, everyone!”

“I’ll take Claquesous!” Cosette yelled over her shoulder. “Bahorel, I need a weapon!” But Bahorel never heard her because at that moment three gunshots fired and the screaming began. Some people thought it was a gimmick, a show. They pulled their phones out, cheering as Patron-Minette came spilling out of the bar and Cosette shot up in the air.

Bahorel grabbed the thing to him: a trash can. He dumped its contents and tossed it up to Cosette.

***

“I’ve only been able to actively do this a handful of times,” Grantaire admitted. “I can feel it here,” he touched the middle of his chest, “and if I push on the feeling, it spreads. I can’t explain it any other way. The only time I tried targeting someone was Montparnasse. I almost threw up afterwards.”

Valjean listened carefully, a deep line creasing his brow. Finally he said, “At some point you’re going to need to practice on other people. Breathing techniques and theory will only get you so far. I wouldn’t worry if I were you. The others are glad to have you here, they’ll trust you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Grantaire huffed but had the feeling he didn't fool Valjean.

***

Combeferre and Feuilly tried pushing the crowd out of the way but all eyes were on Cosette as she swooped, holding the trash can from the top, and headed for a large man that came onto the street from the bar. She knew Claquesous was armed, but he didn’t need a gun. He flicked his hands, almost Spider-Man style, and a string of green liquid came flinging toward the Lark. She used the can as a shield from the acid.

Montparnasse was standing in the center of things, one hand on his hip and a haughty smile on his face. None of them cared about hiding their identities– they wanted a show, a spectacle of their talent.

Bahorel flexed his muscles. His physical appearance did not change even as super strength flared within him, hardening his bones, thickening his skin, and building his muscle. He reached for a parking meter and pulled with all his might until he loosened it from the sidewalk. Swinging it like a club Bahorel turned to Montparnasse. He felt a sharp tug at the bar in his hands as Montparnasse, gun raised in one hand, tried to pry the parking meter from Bahorel with his mind. Feet planted firmly in the ground, Bahorel pulled back on the meter and they engaged in super-natural tug-o-war: Montparnasse’s telekinesis and Bahorel’s strength. Someone in the crowd started booing. Around them Bossuet urged the sparse shrubbery to grow in size and sent a swirl of leaves straight for Montparnasse’s eyes.

Above them Cosette was trying her best to get close to Claquesous. She swung the can and caught the side of his head, but he staggered on his feet and then aimed acid in retaliation not toward her, but the bystanders circling the street. People screamed and began pushing to get away, guns fired again, somewhere in the distance sirens blared.

Cosette came down on him with a cry and hit Claquesous over the head with the trash can. When he fell, Courfeyrac took his chance and grabbed the gangster’s hands and applied heat. Claquesous thrashed and tried to pull away as his hands began burning, but Courfeyrac, tearful, hung on. Cosette kicked the side of his head from above and Courfeyrac let go; Claquesous fell screaming and cursing in pain.

Cars honked over the sound of Javert and his unit yelling orders to the crowds moving back and forth.

“Get them to safety, I’m going in!” Javert ordered. “Call for back up!”

“They’re Supers, sir!” Samson yelled, “Patron-Minette’s gang!”

With a determined scowl Javert barreled through the throngs of people, gun raised, a small group of officers following him.

Claquesues’s careless aim from before had caught one of Patron-Minette’s own men so Enjolras took that moment of weakness to tackle him. With no weapon of his own, Enjolras called on all the training Feuilly had put him through – duck, aim for weak spots, protect your center. The man pulled back and elbowed him in the nose. Enjolras spit blood back in the man’s face. They wrestled, all fury and cheap hits because now was not the time for strategy.

“Behind you!” Combeferre yelled from Enjolras’s left. It was chaos; Enjolras couldn’t think straight. His mind fogged from the abrasive sounds, smells, sights. Somewhere around him Bossuet was cursing, Bahorel was laughing, and shots were still being fired.

Enjolras ducked and rolled as another un-Gifted member of Patron-Minette’s gang came behind him. The two men hit each other and both their guns clattered on the floor. They were snatched immediately, Enjolras couldn’t tell by whom. Fist raised he came at the men again, punching one in the face as the other grabbed Enjolras around the middle, throwing him on the ground.

“Hands in the air! Don’t move!” Javert yelled. Behind him more officers came bursting through the barricade of people; behind them were the red flashing lights of firetrucks. Weaponless, the two men obeyed commands to get down on the ground, hands on their heads.

“Already got this one for you, bro!” Bahorel laughed jovially, nodding to Montparnasse, whom he had tied up to a street light with the parking meter wrapped around his waist. Bossuet grinned proudly, bleeding from the side of his head, as he handed another un-Gifted member to another police officer.

Enjolras sat up, dazed, gingerly touched his head and was relieved to find there was no blood. He was jerked up by Combeferre. “We have to leave. Now,” he urged. “Are you okay?”

“Why don’t you wait for the medics?” A young officer with red hair approached them.

“No. No. I’m fine,” Enjolras hissed. When the officer made no effort to arrest them, Combeferre shoved Enjolras into Bahorel and the three of them pushed out of the crowd where Feuilly and Bossuet were waiting around the corner.

Looking up they found Cosette and Courfeyrac perched on the fire escape of a building. They both looked alright – Cosette was frazzled, but uninjured. Courfeyrac’s hands were a bright red and they still radiated heat. Bossuet was bruised and bleeding but grinning, Bahorel had a broken hand cuff around one wrist, and Enjolras didn’t even want to know what he looked like.

“I texted Giggles and Nurse Joy and told them to meet us at the Castle,” Bossuet said, using the code names for Joly and Musichetta, respectively.

“Crap, they have my foster brother!” Bahorel hollered.

“I’ll go with you,” Cosette offered, “I want to find my Mickey Mouse.”

After promising to stay safe, everyone agreed to just meet each other back at the Castle later, but Courfeyrac and Enjolras needed to get back immediately.

It was hard to maneuver the streets and the crowds with police blocking the streets but they met up with the others at a halfway point just south of San Vincente. Gavroche was eating a bacon wrapped hotdog from one of the street vendors and didn’t seem fazed at all by the continuous sirens, Joly asked question after question, and Marius latched onto Cosette’s side and refused to let go.

***  

Cosette and Marius bought hotdogs for themselves and blended in with other people leaving the cleared sections. They walked in silence until they reached 3rd Street. Every time Marius felt inclined to ask a question he would look at the hard line of Cosette’s mouth and hold his tongue. She wanted to watch the sun rise, so they climbed up the fire escape of an old building and settled down together to watch the slowly lightening sky.

She scooted and pressed herself against his side for warmth. “Is it weird I’m thinking about my mother right now?” she asked.

Marius knew that Cosette was adopted, knew that she lost her mother at a young age, but often times Cosette kept that part of her private. He understood, having lost both his parents as a child as well, and they shared a mutual respect and understanding of each other’s losses.

“Would you like to see a picture of her?” Cosette whispered a secret she would only share with him.

Marius nodded. Cosette let go of his hand and reached under her shirt and pulled out a locket. “Papa gave me the necklace years ago. I found this picture hidden in his things one day, so I took it.” Opening the little heart trinket revealed a picture of a young Cosette and Valjean on one side, and on the other, an old, obviously torn, wrinkled photograph of a smiling woman with the same dark, lively eyes as Cosette. In the worn out photo they lacked her vibrancy but Marius knew they must have been the same once.

“Her name was Fantine.”                                     

She looked into the locket, at her smiling younger self, at her papa’s huge grin and the lines around his eyes, and then back to the picture of her mother, a static image of the woman she once was. “I wonder what she would have looked like with laugh lines. I bet she laughed a lot. I bet her laugh was beautiful.”

“Oh, Cosette,” Marius sighed and kissed her forehead. “You’re her spitting image.”

“There’s something about the sun rise that reminds me of her. Today, especially. I feel like—I’m not sure what I feel,” she said and leaned into him, carefully closing the locket and tucking it away. “What do you remember about your mother?” she asked. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

Marius entwined their fingers together. “She freckled very easily, I remember that.”

“Must be where you get it from.”

Marius laughed softly. “She loved to sing. She always sang to me, even when she was too sick to do much of anything else. I think she would have gotten along very well with your mother had they met. And you, of course. She always told me a smile was the most beautiful feature a person could ever have.”

Cosette mumbled a soft “I love you” into his neck. They sat in silence, the occasional shiver from the cold, November weather running through them as the edge of the sky began turning pink.  Cosette stared out at the sky, ignoring the ache in her bones and the way her heart would sink with thoughts of what she missed out on, about Marius watching his mother die, and then it would slowly warm whenever Marius stroked her hand or turn more into her side.

“I should go back,” Cosette said, breaking the silence and looking away from the light, “Everyone will be worried about me.” _Thank you for sitting with me_ went unsaid, but Marius was a perceptive person when it came to those kinds of things.

 Marius squeezed her hand. “Sure. I didn’t want to say anything, but it’s sort of spooky up here anyway.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts,” Cosette laughed brightly as Marius helped her up.

“I’ll have you know my apartment is haunted! Things move on their own -don’t laugh, Cosette, I’m serious!”

***

Javert closed the door behind him and locked it with a sigh. Another shift over. The paperwork he had to fill out was a nightmare. He tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and shuffled to his bedroom. Placing his gun on the bedside table, he collapsed onto his unmade bed. Slowly the tension rolled off his shoulders and he closed his eyes, trying to forget last night’s mess and the way he had yelled at Samson for letting those kids get away. They wouldn’t be able to hold Patron-Minette for very long, either, and that infuriation was akin to obsession.

The blinds in his bedroom suddenly opened, dust suspending in the sunlight.

Then they closed. All on their own.

They opened and closed back and forth, clapping furiously and violently shaking. “Joseph, Mary, and fucking Christ!” Javert jumped up in bed and scrambled for his gun, “Who’s there?” he shouted over the blinds rattling. Was that _giggling?_ Javert growled, revelation dawning on him, “Thenardier! I know that’s you!” He jumped out of bed and blindly reached for the Thenardier girl.

Eponine waited until she was out the apartment and down the block before ducking into an alley and re-appearing in privacy, stretching her limbs as they came back into view. Still laughing to herself she pulled out the cash she nicked from that crotchety officer and smiled wickedly. Time for breakfast.

***

Cosette came home to a dark hallway and was thankful for the silence. Carefully she tip-toed into the dark kitchen where a small platter of cupcakes sat on the counter. The lights from the candles washed the kitchen in a flickering glow and illuminated a small card that read _Happy Birthday, Cosette_ in Bahorel’s loopy handwriting.

 _“You guys,”_ she beamed teary-eyed, a hand over her heart. When the lights didn’t turn on, when no one jumped out from behind the counter or the sofa to yell _Surprise!_ , Cosette realized she was alone. Clutching the locket to her chest she blew the candles out and in the darkness breathed in the warm, spicy scent of smoke and pumpkin spice cupcakes.

(From inside his office Valjean held a rosary loosely between his fingers and stared out the window as a hummingbird fluttered from flower to flower.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also a question i have if you could please answer! - i'm planning on an interlude chapter explaining jehan's backstory. would you guys be interested in hearing backstories for the other people with superpowers as well?
> 
> also come say hello on [tumblr!](http://www.pumpkinspicejolras.tumblr.com)


	3. interlude - cosette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She lets go, wild and windswept, and catches herself every single time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief mentions (non-specific language) of racism
> 
> also! i mentioned an amis (not marius or the guy passing out fliers) here somewhere - guess who ;)

“Smile, Cosette!”

A flash appeared before her eyes, an uncertain, toothless grin on her face.

“What a beautiful smile!” her uncle Jehan said from over Papa’s shoulder. She giggled and looked down at the cake in front of her.

Cosette had never celebrated her birthday before – in fact, until now she wasn’t even sure she had one. Her new papa explained that everyone had a birthday. If she had a birthday, did that mean she had parents? Ones before Papa, before the other people she lived with? She didn’t ask so not to hurt his feelings.

“Chocolate, your favorite, right Cosette?” Valjean asked her, unsure, and handed her a plate. 

 

***

You could say life with her new papa was... always in motion. They moved around a lot and she changed schools so often sometimes the paperwork didn’t even catch up before they were packing things up in boxes again. Tujunga, North Hollywood, Altadena, Glendale, back to Hollywood. New cities, new schools, new apartments.

In their latest home, a small, two-bedroom apartment in Hollywood, Valjean was watching the evening news when Cosette, in her blue Princess Jasmine pajamas, started edging toward him looking apprehensive.

“Is something wrong, Cosette?” Valjean asked after several minutes of Cosette standing there pretending to be fascinated by the pattern on the throw pillows.

She climbed onto the couch and sat with her feet tucked underneath her, hands folding her in lap. “Papa, what am I?” Cosette asked.

“You’re my little lark,” Valjean answered carefully.

“No,” Cosette repeated, “ _What_ am I?”

Worry flared within him.

“You’re a little girl.” Valjean hoped that was the answer Cosette was looking for.

She huffed impatiently at her father. “No, _what am I_ ,” she repeated as if her meaning was undeniably clear and her father was playing stupid. “What kind of _Asian_ am I?” When Valjean didn’t answer, she said, “Danny at school said I couldn’t sit with them because I’m Asian and his dad doesn’t like Asians.” Her chin trembled with rejection she was still too young to comprehend.

Valjean turned the television off and pulled Cosette closer to him. “Sweetheart, I want you to promise me that the next time Danny says anything to make you upset, you will tell your teacher, alright? Danny’s dad has taught him some very nasty things and that’s sad for him, and you don’t deserve to hear things like that.”

She nodded, but Valjean wasn’t sure she understood his words. He scooped her up and carried her to his bedroom. He set Cosette on top of his desk and spun the globe beside her. “Your mother was born in Los Angeles just like you, but her family was from here,” he said, making sure Cosette listening, and pointed to the Philippine Islands on the globe. Cosette stared at the image under his finger wide-eyes.

(The next time Danny says something mean, Cosette tells their teacher - and the second, third, fourth times as well. The fifth time Danny says something mean and pulls one of her pigtails, so she picks up a jelly ball from the handball court and throws it at him with enough force to knock him over. Valjean has to come early and pick her up.

That summer he enrolls her in a local Pinoy cultural camp for children where she picks up some Tagalog. She speaks it in hushed tones to her dolls, sharing a secret with them that is all hers.

Valjean watches her doing this and thinks back to a woman he knew years ago.)

 

***

When she was nine years old, Cosette became a daredevil on the playground.

Valjean sat on a bench near the play area, switching from watching Cosette, who is waiting in line for the monkey bars, and reading.

“Which one is yours?” a woman sitting beside him asked good-naturedly.

“That one,” Valjean waved at Cosette, who waved back, excited at being next in line. They both watched as she swung from bar to bar with all the grace of a child.

Cosette loved the monkey bars because in that split second before she reaches for the other bar, it was almost like flying. On the last bar she swungs back and forth and lept in a high arc before landing on the ground.

“My, she’s a brave one, isn’t she?” the woman commented. “That’s one’s mine,” and she pointed to a boy a little older than Cosette dressed in multiple layers and aggressivey blowing his nose. Valjean, in attempts to be polite, made small talk with her while keeping an eye on Cosette, anxiety close creeping in.

The real magic happed on the swings.  She soared higher and higher, untied hair flying behind her with each swing forward. She was almost high enough for the swing to wrap around but she kept going higher and higher, faster and faster--

_“Honey!”_ Valjean warned, worried as he watched her.

\--and she jumped from the swing, making a clear arc, higher and longer than her earlier one, across the play area before landing hard in the wood chippings. She scraped her knees from the landing but couldn’t stop grinning the entire drive home. _“It was like flying,”_ she said in awe.

“Sweetie, that was really impressive, but maybe you shouldn’t do that in front of the other kids. It might make them jealous,” Valjean told her gently. He had a feeling a certain conversation was going to happen sooner than he would have hoped for.

Fantine’s daughter could fly.

 

*** 

“I don’t want to switch schools!” Cosette stamped her foot. “Why do we always have to move? I like it here. Papa, I made the cheer squad.”

Valjean flittered around his office packing things. “Lark, this isn’t up for negotiation. We’re moving and you’re going to Flintridge Sacred Heart. I’m sure you’ll make friends there, too.”

“Don’t call me that! Why are we always moving? Why can’t you tell me?” Cosette asked. Valjean sighed, but didn’t say anything, just kept packing his books. “Papa, there is so much I don’t know – please, tell me.”

He dismissed her. “Pack your things.”

Cosette threw her hands up in frustration and stormed out of the room and out the front door, ignoring her father calls for her to come back. The sky was clear, but starless, and her father always warned her to be home after dark, but she was 14 now – no longer a child, if only he could see that.

All her life she felt lost and grounded in a reality she couldn't understand. She always figured it was because she was adopted, and that she knew very little of her heritage, even though her father tried his best. But there were also memories tucked away in the dark corners of her mind, things that made her shudder and wake up in tears - places and people and faces that haunted her and she couldn't get away. Around other people she felt alone. She had no other family other than her father – and she hadn’t seen her uncle Jehan in years – and now was her chance at making real friends, and her father wanted to make her start over again.

She thought back to the cheer-leading practice that afternoon. They were practicing tumbling, but all she wanted to do was _fly._ She wasn’t as small as flyers typically were, but she wanted to be one of the girls that got to soar in the air. When they tossed her up, Cosette felt a weightlessness she didn't know she craved. It was as natural for her to be in the air as it was natural for birds to fly.

The neighborhood park was cleared by the time Cosette arrived and the moonlight reflected off the equipment. She sat on a swing with an idea in mind and began swinging higher and higher, ready to jump off. Eyes closed she soared across the park, wind caressing her air. 

Cosette opened her eyes and cried out when she saw the parking lot beneath her. Panicing, she crashed down with a stumble, scared and heart racing as if she’d run a marathon. But it felt right in a way that nothing else ever did. It was more than an adrenaline rush, it was her body doing what it was meant to do. Holding onto that feeling, she made sure no one was around and then _pushed_ – when she realized her feet were no longer touching the ground, that she was _hovering_ , reality came crashing down around her.

Gravity meant nothing - she was finally free.

(Her father knew, had always known. With his permission she learns to fly after dark. She lets go, wild and windswept, and catches herself every single time.)

***

She was wearing the ugliest pink tulle dress ever that her father picked out for her. The school mixer with the other local all-boy's school was one of the only social functions her father allowed her to attend.

While talking to a friend and ignoring boys who are also ignoring her, _he_ caught her eye.

There across the dance floor is a young man with messy hair and a bright, open face. She could see his freckles from where she stood. He’s also chatting with a friend from school, oblivious to the mixer happening around him and fiddling with the sleeves of his too-big jacket.

It was only when he looked back and caught her eye that Cosette realized he had been staring back as well.

Breath left her lungs, her blood stilled even though her heart was racing in an effort to get to him. That moment was the closest to flying she ever experienced.

And just like that, he was gone.

 

***  

She doesn’t see him again until her first year of college three years later. She wasn’t allowed to dorm at school because her father was worried, but that didn’t stop her from joining as many clubs as possible.

A boy around her age, maybe older, was passing fliers in front of the library. “Hi! Are you interested in activism? Making the campus, and our community, a better place?” he asked her, rehearsed and rushed, a flyer extended in his hand. She tucked it away in her bag and went to a meeting on a whim more than anything else.

At the meeting she saw _him_ again. He was sitting at a table, head bent over a large textbook, ignoring the jokes the boy beside him was telling to the group.

 

*** 

“My name is Marius.”

“And mine’s Cosette.”

 

***

Marius waited two months after meeting her before asking her out. Boys were something she had little experience in as sheltered as her father kept her. Even though they dated for the rest of the school year, she never mentioned Marius around her father once. He wouldn’t like him, she knew that.

Just before winter break of her freshman year, she made the foolish decision to be expected of someone so young and in love.

“Guess who,” she whispered playfully in Marius’s ear, hands over his eyes. They were in his dorm room.

She felt his cheeks push up as he smiled. “Cosette, I know that’s you,” he said. She hovered above his head as he turned around.

“Over here,” she said from behind him, a nervous smile on her face.

Marius turned and jumped back when he saw her floating there.

“Cosette!”

“Shh!” she urged and landed back down. Her heart was dragged into her stomach and she suddenly wished she could turn invisible instead.

By the look on his face she expected a complete freak out, not for him to say: “You’re just like the others! Like Courfeyrac!”

 

***

Cosette approached her father after the others left.

“Is there something you wanted, Cosette?” Valjean asked. He knew what she wanted by the look on her face.

“You know, when I introduced the boys to you, it was under the impression that I would be part of the group too,” she said and crossed her arms.

“Sweetheart, you will be part of the group. I’m just worried, can’t you understand that? There’s so much that could go wrong. I’m not even sure your friends know what they’re in for.” The greys around his temple were more prominent in the lighting of their kitchen, the lines carved in his face shadowed.

“I can fight, I can protect myself.” Cosette drew in a breeze from the open window, fluttering the curtains and the bills stacked on the counter. “Look what I can do. This is more than flying.”

She stopped the breeze and sat down across from her father. “Please,” she urged.

Whenever Valjean looked into his daughter’s eyes, he saw lasting imprints made by Fantine. They expressed their thoughts through their eyes in the same way; Cosette’s mouth could become a hard line of disapproval the same way Fantine’s could. Her bravery passed on to her daughter – Valjean was certain it had nothing to do with him.

“I deserve to feel as liberated on the ground as I do in the air,” Cosette pleaded once more.

“You’re right,” Valjean nodded, his voice brittle. “You’re absolutely right.”

When she beamed at him and threw her arms around him, Valjean knew Fantine would be so proud of both of them.

 

***

She flew above the city and its colorful lights, weaving among the clouds, high above the sound of traffic, the wind cool on her face and the moon shining brightly above her.

A voice buzzed in her ear. Feuilly.

_“Lark, you’re needed down below.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: thenardier family fun, more javert on the job, & thanksgiving part 1
> 
> also come say hello on [tumblr!](http://www.pumpkinspicejolras.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> fic title inspired by the bright eyes song title "old soul song". also a nod to t.s. eliot in the beginning of the chapter.  
> future chapters will (possibly) have more graphic depictions of violence/abuse/etc which i will tag appropriately as the fic progresses.  
> this is my very first fic, please be gentle, and enjoy! (and let me know what you think!)
> 
> also come say hello on [tumblr!](http://www.pumpkinspicejolras.tumblr.com)


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